The Jupiter Pirates Read Free

yourself ?”
    Tycho shut off the external microphone.
    â€œVesuvia, display colors,” he said.
    â€œAcknowledged,” the ship’s artificial intelligence said, activating the Comet ’s transponders so they broadcast her true identity and allegiance.
    â€œThis is the Shadow Comet , operating under letter of marque of the Jovian Union,” Tycho said, reactivating his microphone and trying to make his voice as deep as possible. “I repeat, identify yourself.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you say so in the first place?” the freighter’s captain asked. “We’re Jovian too—this is the Cephalax II out of Ganymede.”
    â€œTransponders report Jovian Union allegiance,” Yana reported, one eyebrow arched skeptically.
    â€œIt’s a trick,” Carlo said.
    Tycho checked that his microphone was shut off. “Of course it’s a trick,” he said, annoyed. “Just keep us warmed up for intercept.”
    â€œThree thousand,” Yana said.
    Tycho turned his microphone back on.
    â€œNice to see you out here, Ceph-Two ,” he said. “Once you transmit the current Jovian recognition code, we’ll accept your pass and see you on your way.”
    There was a long pause. The Hashoones looked at one another.
    â€œOur communications antenna suffered some damage on the voyage to Earth, Comet ,” the captain said. “I’m afraid our codes aren’t up-to-date.”
    â€œSorry to hear that, Ceph-Two ,” Tycho said. “We’ll also accept last month’s code.”
    â€œTwo thousand klicks,” Yana said.
    â€œ Comet , our antenna problems short-circuited our transponders,” the captain said. “Afraid we can’t transmit.”
    â€œWow, at least come up with a good story!” said Yana.
    â€œBelay that,” Diocletia ordered, giving her daughter a sharp look.
    Tycho had heard enough.
    â€œ Cephalax II , we claim your vessel under the articles of war governing interplanetary commerce,” he said. “Shut down your engines and prepare for boarding.”
    â€œYou sound barely old enough to shave,” the captain scoffed. “You want me to surrender my freighter to a kid?”
    â€œA thousand klicks,” Yana said.
    Tycho keyed his microphone again.
    â€œNo, Ceph-Two , I want you to surrender to the pair of twenty-gigajoule laser cannons this kid has locked on your vessel,” Tycho said, trying to make his voice sound cold and ruthless. “Heave to or we will fire.”
    â€œSeven hundred fifty klicks,” Yana said.
    â€œMr. Grigsby, you may fire upon my mark,” Tycho said.
    â€œWho in the name of space is Grigsby?” the freighter captain demanded. “That your dad?”
    Startled, Tycho realized he hadn’t switched his microphone to the channel used for communicating with the gunnery crews belowdecks. His last message had gone out into space instead.
    â€œMr. Grigsby is our warrant officer, Ceph-Two ,” Tycho said, trying to recover his dignity. “He’s the man who’s going to start putting holes in your hull if you don’t shut your engines down now .”
    Tycho switched his microphone to the correct setting. “Mr. Grigsby, you may fire upon my mark—but only on my mark.”
    â€œAye-aye, Master Hashoone. Guns are hot,” Grigsby growled.
    â€œFive hundred,” Yana said. They could see the approaching freighter now, a collection of boxy containers connected by thick steel struts. At her stern sat a quartet of giant spheres—long-range fuel tanks like the ones the Comet had temporarily left drifting back among the space rocks.
    â€œCarlo, lock in a starboard intercept course,” Tycho said. His heart was thudding. “We’ll destroy her sensor masts first. Maybe then she’ll take us more seriously.”
    â€œFour hundred,” Yana said.
    â€œ Ceph-Two , this is your final warning,”